Worth The Wait
by Katrina
Summary: Modern CS AU. They had met once before under the worst of circumstances. Assistant editor, Emma Swan's world had been crumbling down around her and promising playwright, Killian Jones, had been a reluctant witness. Now, years later, Emma has her own small, but up and coming, publishing house and she's about cross paths with him again. Captain Swan.


**DISCLAIMER:** "Once Upon A Time" is copyrighted to ABC and Disney-ABC Domestic Television. I retain rights to the plot, but not the characters. This story is meant for enjoyment purposes only. No infringement is intended.

 **AUTHOR:** Katrina

 **TIMELINE:** Modern AU.

 **PAIRING:** Emma Swan/Killian Jones.

 **SYNOPSIS:** They had met once before but under the worst of circumstances. Assistant editor, Emma Swan's world had been crumbling down around her and promising playwright Killian Jones had been a reluctant witness. Now, years later, Emma and her business partner, David Nolan, have their own small, but up and coming, publishing house and she's about to find out that her most popular author isn't quite who they seem.

 **GENRE:** Romance/Angst

 **WORTH THE WAIT**

 **Prologue**

Three years ago...

Emma Swan trudged up the stairs with weary sigh, letting her suitcase thump uncaringly against each stone step behind her. Typically the elevator was out again. Just what she needed after the couple of hectic days she'd just had. Thankfully she finally reached her floor then headed along the corridor to the apartment she shared with her fiancé, Walsh.

She'd been out of town on business and had managed to catch an earlier flight home when everything had concluded quicker than she'd anticipated. As assistant editor at a firmly established publishing house, she sometimes had to remind a writer of their pressing deadline. On the odd occasion that reminder had to be delivered personally. A little wining and dining and an ego boost could work miracles.

She came to a halt in front of her apartment and let go of the suitcase handle to rummage around in her purse for her keys. Finding them quickly she unlocked the door and went inside. It was quiet as she knew it would be considering the relatively early hour. Walsh was probably still in bed.

A small frown marred her features when she realised that the thought of going into their bedroom and waking him up with a few well placed kisses didn't hold the appeal it once had. Things hadn't been good between them lately. Hell, they hadn't been good for some time if she was honest. Theirs had been a whirlwind romance and after only a couple of months it had seemed the perfectly natural thing to move in together. A proposal had followed a few weeks after that and despite her friends words of caution she'd happily accepted. She was in love and for the first time in her life she felt that she belonged. Had a home.

With no family, her parents hadn't wanted her, she'd grown up fending for herself. It was nice to have someone who was now there for her as well.

Except that he wasn't really. Not anymore.

Walsh was an actor by profession and a good one too. Good enough that he was beginning to get recognised in the media through his stage work. Things were starting to take off for him but the more attention he gained, the less he paid to her.

She ran a tired hand through her long blonde hair and debated whether to just use the spare room instead and catch up on some sleep. The fact that she even contemplated it should have told her that a talk about their relationship was past overdue.

Silently, she placed her suitcase down by the side of the door then dropped her keys onto the coffee table as she walked through the lounge. Her frown deepened when she noticed a couple of empty wine bottles and four glasses but before she could wonder at what that meant the door to the spare room unexpectedly opened.

A man she'd never seen before staggered out zipping up tight black jeans that hung low on his hips. From the look of pain on his face and the slightly green hue she knew he was obviously feeling the worse for wear from drink.

He stilled when he saw her, his surprised gaze clashing with her shocked one as they simply stared at each other for a moment, speechless. She quickly took in his messy black hair, the bloodshot but still startlingly blue eyes and his firm jaw with its day old scruff and an uneasy feeling settled in the pit of her stomach.

Emma dragged her gaze from his to roam unabashedly down over his bare chest. She absently noted the liberal dusting of black hair that arrowed down his taut stomach until it disappeared beneath his still unbuttoned trousers and she swallowed hard, almost welcoming the abrupt appearance of a lithe, blonde woman that exited the room after him.

Emma was vaguely aware that she wasn't wearing much in the way of clothes either and suddenly everything sickeningly clicked into place. The wine bottles, the glasses, the...guests.

Without a word she turned away and strode over to her own bedroom then opened up the door. Her stomach dropped as she drew in a sharp, shocked breath and took an involuntary step backwards. There Walsh lay asleep completely naked next to an equally unclothed and very curvaceous redhead.

She dimly heard a small cry of distress and realised it had come from her. It was loud enough to rouse Walsh and he let out a soft groan as he gradually awoke. She stared down at him feeling oddly detached in the moment as she watched him come to and realise that she was standing by the bed.

He sat up quickly, eyes comically wide as he glanced over at the redhead, who was also stirring, then back up at Emma and held up his hands.

"Emma, honey, I can explain..." he began in a mildly panicked tone.

"I'll bet you can but I don't want to hear it," she cut in flatly, "This isn't the first time is it?"

A deep red stained his cheeks confirming what she'd long suspected and she fought the urge to physically throw up. She turned and walked out of the room afraid of doing just that, her stomach swirling and mind spinning at the betrayal of the man she loved.

Somewhere behind her she heard a loud, irate female voice berating Walsh and then a hand was on her arm turning her around.

"Let's talk," her fiancé said firmly.

Emma shook him off and stepped away, her scathing glance taking in the sheet he clutched at his waist and numerous marks of passion that adorned his torso. Her stomach rolled again and she gave him a look of disgust.

"Just get out, Walsh," she told him, striving for calm even though she dearly wanted to punch him in the face, "You've got five minutes...and take the rest of the garbage with you."

"But, sweetheart..." he began placatingly, still trying to salve the situation, but she was having none of it, the use of the endearment merely stirring her anger.

"No! It's over," she ground out harshly, the first hint of her ire starting to show through as she desperately tried to cling onto what tiny shred of dignity she had left, "We can sort out a time for you to come and get your stuff another day. Right now I just want you the hell gone."

He stared at her a moment, his gaze hardening when he realised that she really meant it.

"Fine. I'll go. But this is all your fault, Emma. If you actually _satisfied_ me, I wouldn't _need_ to look anywhere else, would I?" he sneered nastily.

She did give into her anger then and slapped him hard across the face. His head snapped to the side with the force and he placed his hand against his cheek to ease the sting. His expression was murderous when he finally looked at her again and she thought for a second that he was going to hit her back. She held her ground, chin tilting up slightly then she saw him glance briefly over her shoulder before scowling and taking a step back.

"Bitch," he muttered tersely, then spun around and stalked quickly away.

"I'm sorry, love," came a soft, apologetic voice from across the room after a moments silence, "I know that probably doesn't mean much to you right now but I swear this whole thing makes me as sick to the stomach as it does you."

She tensed and drew in a sharp breath at his words then turned slowly and stared blankly at the stranger for a second. She'd forgotten he was even there. Somewhere in the mess of her mind she recognised that he had an English accent...and that he'd managed to don a shirt, although not successfully button it up as yet. He stood there looking at her, his boots dangling from one hand, the simpering, now dressed, blonde clinging to his arm and a mixture of such sorrow and compassion in his eyes that she wanted to shout at him to stop.

A surge of anger and humiliation coursed through her system railing at the fact that he had just borne witness to the worst moment of her life. Not thinking twice, she marched over to the front door and wrenched it open before sending a pointed look in his direction.

A faint smile touched his lips and he gave her a slight nod of acknowledgement before making his way towards her with the blonde in tow.

"You deserve better than him," he paused to murmur once he drew level, "No matter what he said, _you're_ not to blame, _he_ is and don't ever forget that, love."

She stared back at him in silence, grateful for his words and the quiet conviction shining in his steady gaze even if she didn't quite believe them. Willing herself not to cry, she blinked rapidly and looked down trying to get a hold on her emotions.

She felt rather than saw him leave, her attention then captured by Walsh when he appeared with his arm draped around the redhead. He gave Emma a derisive smirk and sauntered out as if he hadn't just completely destroyed her whole world.

Only when she couldn't hear his footsteps echoing in the stairwell did she close the door.

And only then did she finally allow her tears to fall.

 **END PROLOGUE**


End file.
